My Mind

My Mind
This is my mind

Friday, April 6, 2012

Spring fever

The sound of birds and the copper color of robins flitting from the ground to the trees woke me to the fresh beauty of the day. The air was filled with the song of newly arrived birds of spring. The sun was shining in the blue expanse above and cool breezes, flowing across rosy cheeks, awakened the sense of new beginnings promised in the first moment the spring is realized...within.
I ran around the yard in a burst of joy.  I was a happy little boy who was simply enjoying the wonder of life.  Not only was the weather providing the warmth needed to pull us outside without the need of thick jackets, but there was also the promise in the air of newness to life.
It was the first year I was old enough to understand growth  from seeds. I wanted to buy some Burpee packets and grow flowers.  I got the seeds  from the store--ten cents from my twenty-five cents allowance. When we got home with my packets, promising purple flowers, I jumped out of the car and ran around looking for some place to plant them.
Top of Form
“How about there?”  my mother suggested.  It was a spot near the top of the drive just beneath a pine tree that reached to heaven when I looked upward through its top branches.
"OK," I said taking the proffered shovel. For a little guy the thing was a bit unwieldy but I dragged it over to the spot, leaving a dugout trail behind the blade.
"Find a good sunny area there. Flowers need sunlight," said my mother watching my progress.
"Here?" I asked.
"Perfect," she said.
Naturally I picked a spot that looked great but the underground roots proved a problem. I broke earth by sticking the pointed blade into the dirt, then jumping as high as I could, landing both feet on the back of the scoop repeatedly. I kept at it until the area was somewhat softened. Tossing the shovel aside I got on my hands and knees, and like a crazed farmer began clutching clods of dirt, holding them up in the air and allowing it to pour through my opening fingers, all with a wild grin clamped across my face.
"Will these tiny things make flowers?" I said, doubt clouding my voice..
"Yes, with the proper care and God's help."
"What do you mean God's help?"
"He has supplied the ground to plant them in. Over time He will send rain to water them, especially when you forget to use the watering can. And, He will provide the urge inside each little seed to grow into the sunlight He shines down on them."
"Easter comes in spring. You remember? Just like those seeds that look dead, God's son looked dead but he rose up from the tomb and lived again in the sunlight."
"You mean Jesus?"
"I do. Spring comes each year to provide us a hint of the newness of life after the cold grey days and nights of winter. The warmth flows back into the earth and from it life returns with the promise of beauty and wonder."
"I can't wait until my flowers grow up," I said looking at the patch of disturbed ground that now held my packet of seeds individually poked into their holes with tiny child fingers.
"OK. Let's give them a drink of water and then let them soak it in. We'll leave them and let God tend to their growth."
Throughout the remainder of the day I kept running out to see if anything had grown, disappointed each time.
About a week later I began to see tiny green sprouts breaking the ground cover. Each day I watered when their cradle of dirt seemed too dry. I'd sit for a while each day and will them to grow but they never moved any faster. Unconcerned that I had no power to do that, I'd jump up and run to the neighbor's to play.
Then one day the first hint of purple begin to appear. I ran to fetch my mother to show her. We both stood there admiring God's handiwork as the fragile buds swayed in the light breeze.

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